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You Made Your Bed
NCC Medical Ward Like its previous incarnation, this medical ward was designed with the medic in mind, with all the modern advances to make the dirty work of repairs a world easier. It is well lit, the blue and violet metal of the walls and decor is a shade paler here, and the ubiquitous filigree is missing, all to assist in ease of cleaning. Still, the place veritably sparkles. In the furniture, there is a subtle motif of blades and sharp edges, as if to evoke the scalpel of a surgeon, although it is all quite safe. Around two dozen beds, more comfortable than their sharp looks would suggest, fill the medical ward, laid out in a tidy grid, and more can be flipped out of the walls should emergency demand it. A set of tracks on the ceiling mirror the grid of beds, allowing advanced scanning equipment and tolls to be swiveled around to the various beds. Computer terminals and cabinets are molded right into the walls at intervals, and while there are the normal medical security cameras, it appears as if someone has set some of the cameras specifically to watch the cabinets. Galvatron is currently not in the medical bay. Might be safe for a certain renegade seeker to sneak in some quick fixes before anyone goes, "Hey, aren't you that guy that so and so?" Backfire is laid out still, semi concious on the slab as a gumbie goes over his diagnostics. It seems Cybertronian frames aren't meant for orbital cannons, even the thick ones. "Shhhh, I'm not the Seeker you're looking for." the simpleton whispers, waving a hand in front of the medical grunt's face. Staring back in utter disbelief, the drone goes back to work without comment. Blast Off didn't get a scratch last night. He did drain a lot of energy cannoning the scrapmetal out of Backfire though, and had to go off to recharge more than anything else once he'd dumped Backfire's body and strapped it down. Figured some medic would get the horrible task of fixing him up just enough to be punished... And you can bet your sparks Blast Off will show up when he finds out said punishing is going to happen. Uh oh, and look who just walked into the door RIGHT THEN? "Well, let's see who amongst my warriors is currently disabled due to combat and/or stupidity," Galvatron muses aloud as he stomps inside. "Oh, my!" he says, optics locking onto Backfire almost like he knew exactly where he was before Galvatron even entered the room. "There's one such casualty right now! Dear, dear, the poor mech. He needs repairs!" Roughly, he shoves the medical gumby aside, and ignores the poor guy as he topples over onto the floor. "I think I'll take over from here, Backfire, don't worry. Now, I'm not a qualified medtech, per se, but I have *watched* others repair my troops and myself plenty of times! That'll have to do! Now, let's see, how do I do this..." From a nearby tray, he picks up what looks like a rivet gun. "Oh, Lord Galvatron ... what brings you at this hour?" Backfire stammers, regaining conciousness quickly and attempting to scurry away like a rat on a sinking ship ... despite being maglocked to the slab. "Oh, I feel much better sire. No need for further repair!" Either he -just happens- to return at that moment, or Blast Off spotted the familiar purple form of their leader down the hallway and was quick to catch up. Slipping in the doors, the Combaticon sniper says nothing, but there's an obvious glint of amusement in his visor. Coldwar steps into the NCC Medical Ward. Optics of ruby red set within a hardened expression scan the unfamiliar area briefly, searching... Before long they come to rest upon the Decepticon known as Hackjob, who appears to be just the Cybertronian he had been searching for. Then, almost immediately after his objective had been sighted he takes note of the presence of Galvatron. Snapping to attention, the Soldier salutes. Harrow rushes in with with a look of deep worry ... for her wingmate? Frag no. Harrow appears relieved to have not yet missed Backfire's punishment, and she quickly shuffles aside, giving a hasty salute that is too vague for anyone to notice. Galvatron feigns a look of deep concentration as he aims the rivet gun in Backfire's general direction. "Oh, no, we can't let you go! Look at you, you're in no shape to go running around on your own... with your own private agenda, especially..." His lip curls at that last bit, and his finger squeezes the trigger of the rivet gun slowly... and then something distracts him momentarily. Namely, an unfamiliar Decepticon saluting him. Galvatron doesn't return the salute because he's a colossal jerk, but he does say, "Hm, haven't seen you before..." He squints. Was there a report about this guy? He... can't remember. Galvatron, you see, occasionally seals himself inside of a sound-proof chamber after a tough day, and once he's done so, he just screams and screams for hours as he rips apart some discarded equipment that he has inside there and batters the walls with his fist. It's very relaxing, but sometimes, after the haze fades, he forgets things. Galvatron doesn't return Harrow's salute either. He really is a jerk, you see. Harrow is honored to be ignored! If he could sweat, Backfire would be dropping buckets of the nervous liquid. "Private agenda? I was serving the EMPIRE, Lord Galvatron! Wasn't it uhh, obvious ... that my distractions did serve to give our troops free movement in Mexico??" his brow furrows, the Seeker growing very cautious each time the rivet gun gets close. "Impounded by the fact that no more slaves have gone missing!!" Backfire adds, trying as all get out to squirm from the eventual punishment and/or beheading. "DEC-511 Coldwar, Sir. I've fought for the Decepticons since 8 Million BCE, sir. Honored to be under your direct command," Coldwar replies to Galvatron, still holding the salute until it finally becomes clear that the Decepticon leader is not one for protocol... Just like Boomslang and Redshift had said. Lowering his arm, the Soldier moves both hands behind his back and assumes a more relaxed stance known as a parade rest. At this point, a lot of other Decepticons would be trying to brag and croon over the job they did blasting a 'rogue' agent to pieces and dragging the wreck home to be dealt with by their great tyranical leader as he sees fit. But not Blast Off. He got his pleasure in the handiwork he left behind, that everyone can see lying on a medtable even if Backfire did manage to get a drone to work on him some. If anyone congratulates him or yells at him for getting the glory, he doesn't particularly care. He just pulls a can of oil out and takes a sip from it, leaning up in a corner in the back to watch the show. Galvatron fires a rivet into one of Backfire's ankles as he nods at Coldwar. "Of course you are," Galvatron says to Coldwar over the din of Backfire's excuses. "Yes, yes... I think I remember you now. Reliable soldier." Under his breath, he mutters, "Could stand to loosen up a little, but..." Louder, he continues, "Ehm, what kind of aircraft are you supposed to be? I don't think I've seen that configuration before." Then, as easily as one might flip a light switch, he redirects his attention to Backfire, leaning over his table until Galvatron's face is right over Backfire's. "IF YOU WANT TO STOP SLAVES FROM ESCAPING THEN KILL JAZZ ALREADY! And anyway, that's not the concern, here. I want to know what you were doing and why!" The simpleton cries out in agony, as the perfectly repaired ankle is riveted down to the slab beneath him. That neon green energon spurts from the wound, then ceases soon afterwards. "I uhh ... don't remember. All I recall Lord Galvatron, is the sudden urge to speak Chineese and serve a motherland!" Backfire barks in desperation. A curt nod is offered to Galvatron, as Coldwar's ruby red gaze remains fixed upon his leader-seemingly all but oblivious to the 'punishment' of his fellow Decepticon. "Sir. I am a HV-911 Bell Eagle Eye. It is an unmaned aerial vehicle designed primarily for surveillance, sir." Thorough, yet to the point, the Soldier isn't exactly full of personality like some other Decepticons, but reliable he certainly is. ... Oh you have got to be kidding. Though instead of objection directly, Blast Off just mutters, "He barely has enough brain -to- wash," under his breath and goes back to sipping oil. Galvatron looks back up at Coldwar with a bit of a lop-sided frown. "A surveillance vehicle? Hhn. Well... I suppose some of my best Decepticons are spies. I won't hold that against you--just give me reliable information and you'll get your share of energon like everyone else." Looking back down at Backfire, Galvatron says, "What, you claim that the Chinese brainwashed you? Blast Off does have a point, you know. And besides, why would the Chinese even want you?" Forcing himself to chuckle during the pain, "I have no idea sire, perhaps they've observed me in the service of the Decepticons. Clearly, my steadfast loyalty is uhh, a trait they desire?" Backfire shouts out, still wary of another riveting. Making up stories isn't an idiot's strong point, on the fly no less faced with a pissed off Galvatron ... the Seeker is doing a decent job. Coldwar lifts his chin slightly in acknowledgement. "Sir," he replies firmly, and then begins to make his way toward Hackjob. "I understand you are a medic. I require repairs of damage sustained during my last engagement." That said he is escorted to a repair berth, and the Decepticon medic goes to work on the relatively minor damage that remains for the most part aesthetic. Blast Off is enjoying this. No one can really see it in his typical neutral expression, but he is. It's just as much fun as watching Vortex take someone for one of his crazy interrogation rides. Galvatron's lip curls in disgust as he looms over Backfire. "Soldier, I want the truth out of you. What were you REALLY doing down there in... wherever it was? And what the blazes is wrong with your energon? It's the wrong color--" Galvatron stops himself, and his optics narrow. "Wrong color, egads!!" Backfire screams bloody murder, craning his head up a little to view his 'life blood' spilling onto the ground. "Lord Galvatron, I haven't a clue. One day I was refilling my reserves with some older energon, the next ... I was out capturing hostages and setting oil fields aflame." the Seeker pauses, trying to play it up. If the Chineese excuse didn't work, this was his last chance. "It wasn't until my lines were voided after our struggle, did I finally feel myself. I've been poisoned!" .. Eh? Blast Off looks up at the mention of wrong colored energon, taking a bit more interest in the matter. Backfire's suggestion is possible. Or. Hmm. "His 'captive' did try to sabotage several of his attempts in secret. Prehaps he slipped something into his fuel lines while making modifications to try and contaminate him in the long run?" Resting within the repair berth was nothing short of an absolute bore to Coldwar, his hardened gaze fixed forward and unflinching regardless of what is done to his chassis. After some silence, Hackjob begins to make a few inquiries into the nature of his injuries. "...Patroling grid Epsilon of the territory U.S.A. A human made Exo-Suit from the organization known as the E.D.C." comes the cold, point by point response. Hackjob, it seems, is in a talkative mood today, and continues with his evaluation. "...Negative. My request to travel to grid Iota was denied. Apparently this 'China' is too dangerous..." And there it is-just the tiniest, itsy-bitsy, barely noticeable flicker of annoyance graces Coldwar's face. Galvatron's expression takes on an incredulous look. "You were poisoned?" he blurts out. "Well, it doesn't seem to be killing you--sadly--so..." He sticks the tip of his finger in the strangely colored energon, and gives it a taste. See, Galvatron is not just a jerk, he's also a little depraved. "Coldwar, nevermind whoever said that," Galvatron says as he examines the 'flavor,' "Once you're back at full operational capacity, I want you to monitor the activities of the Chinese, and in particular, the Cybertronians they've corrupted. But keep your distance as much as possible--I don't want you to join their delusional ranks. I'd hate to have to kill you." Blast Off gets his attention, next. "Backfire's 'captive?" Galvatron says. "My, this is getting interesting. Who was the captive? What was in the fuel? Mysteries abound!" "The alien scientist he had kidnapped," Blast Off replies. Sips the end of his oil, and tosses the can in a trash receptical. "Unfortunately, the Autobots and their squishy pets were able to take him into custody.. But seeing how much trouble he caused one Seeker by pretending to help him, it's hardly a loss. Last thing we need is your whole glorious army getting 'poisoned'." "I must have been Lord Galvatron, what else would explain my behaivor??" Backfire replies, trying to challenge his master's thought process ... but at the same time, staving off a Galv-cannoning. "Yes, it must have been that despicable Tuk-Tuk ... he betrayed me!" Coldwar's gaze quickly finds Galvatron, focusing intently upon the depraved Decepticon leader. "Sir," he states with another curt nod, and a tiny bit of gratitude almost as under expressed as the former expression of annoyance. "I would hate to force your hand, sir. Thank you, sir." Now the Soldier is wasting no time, and rather than allow Hackjob to continue his work which is only superficial aesthetics anyway by this point, Coldwar rises from his berth and speaks quickly to Hackjob. "My gratitude," are his final words to the Medic before marching out of the Medical Ward. Galvatron grimaces, and spits out the fuel he sampled. "Ungh, this stuff is in your body? Urgh!" He looks back at forth between Backfire and Blast Off, looking thoughtful. "Hmmm. I see. So let me get this straight... you kidnapped this "Tuk Tuk" and forced him to create contaminated energon which currently flows through your fuel lines, and then you lost "Tuk Tuk" to the Autobots, leaving you in your current sad state. And you really thought it was worth going rogue to do all of that?" He shakes his head. "Silly little fool. I'll tell you what, Backfire. Your punishment is to continue to have this... *substance* flowing through you for as long as you live. By law, our medtechs will be forbidden from purging it from you under pain of death. Understand? So... I hope you enjoy the fruits of your efforts. Hahahaha!" As Coldwar leaves, Galvatron calls back, "Gratitude is unnecessary--I want RESULTS, soldier!" And that is why you don't cross Galvatron, even if he's totally nuts. He might come up with -worse- than cannoning you, Blast Off muses to himself. From the Spinal Pathway just outside of the Medical Ward comes a resounding, "Yes, SIR!" from Coldwar. Backfire resists against the maglocking, tearing bits and pieces off his frame that's holding him down. "You can't, you wouldn't, Lord Galvatron ... please, I beg of you!! I'd rather face a thousand Primes than be tormented with this, this ... atrocity! How will I ever dutifully serve the EMPIRE in this state??" the Seeker whines out, almost pleading for a Galvcannoning over the current punishment. "How will I achieve ... my ... my, destiny" comes the faint whimper of Backfire, finally relented into submission and lying there helpless. Galvatron grins cruelly as he rips that rivet right out of Backfire's ankle. "Oh, I can do this! I AM doing this! And as for how you'll serve the Empire like this, well... that's not my problem, is it? It's YOURS." He tosses the rivet over his shoulder as he laughs raucously. Yes, gentlemen, this is the other reason--besides the cannon--that he's the boss. You just don't cross him. "At least it's not radioactive." Blast Off pauses, then narrows his optics behind his visor. "It -isn't- radioactive, right?" Backfire sulks there, still locked down. He's beyond the point of replying and pleading with Galvatron, instead taking solace in the fact that he's still allowed to be a part of the empire. "Blast Off, for once ... could you stop making observations??" Blast Off just chuckles a little in response to that. Sometimes a chuckle is all it takes. But he does stop with the comments for now. He's already had his fun with the victim. Galvatron grins widely as he stomps out. "Another job well done," he muses to himself as the door closes behind him. He supposes he won't need the Angry Room today, after all. Decepticon = Message: 2/89 Posted Author Notice to Medics Wed Jun 23 Galvatron --------------------------------------------------------------------------- From: Galvatron To: All qualified MSE technicians Backfire has, through his own stupidity, managed to contaminate his energon with some sort of bizarre greenish fluid. It's disgusting stuff--and yet, I do not wish it to be purged from his systems. No, under *pain of death,* medical technicians are forbidden from purging this matter from Backfire's fuel systems. It is to remain there, forever, as punishment for his hubris. Forever. -- GALVATRON, EMPEROR OF DESTRUCTION